


Venus in Furs

by The_Jester_Erebus10



Category: Black Swan (2010)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Mental Instability, Parent/Child Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Jester_Erebus10/pseuds/The_Jester_Erebus10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Um...yeah.<br/>So...I had my suspicions about Erica and Nina...<br/>So this is what happened after three years of watching one of my favorite movies...and finally writing what I thought happened.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Venus in Furs

**Author's Note:**

> Um...yeah.  
> So...I had my suspicions about Erica and Nina...  
> So this is what happened after three years of watching one of my favorite movies...and finally writing what I thought happened.

Nina didn't know how old she was. She was young, she knew this...but she felt a thousand years old. Her memories of the past were buried underneath a concrete grave of self pity, and conceit, yet she remained blissfully unaware, still.

Father had left when she was young; she barely remembered the lingering, pungent scent of whiskey-hard breath and hair roughened skin. But she did remember how her mother would cry, after nights of her father leaving with only the sound of a banging door, echoing forever in her mind.

Mama never talked about Father. He was a distant, unpleasant memory, a screaming visage of spitefulness and deceit. Ever since Father left, no man had ever stepped foot in the apartment ever again.

For years as she was just a young slip of a thing, arching her toes into pirouette, bending her arms as a swan's wings would...she wondered, what it all meant...why Father left when she was so young, why he left without saying goodbye, and why Mama would fix breakfast with the salt tracks of tears under her wet eyes.

Mama talked at her, and Nina nodded, sipping on a glass of water, and poking at her banana. She lost track of days, months, years—how long had Father been gone? Was he ever coming back to see her ballet?

The Nutcracker was soon to be playing, and Nina was a Snowflake. She had wanted to be Clara, or the Sugar Plum Fairy, but she didn't think Tomas liked her, much.

"Why wouldn't he like you, sweetie?" Mama said, one day, after Nina had come home from ballet practice, tears stinging her eyes.

"I'm not as pretty as Veronica," Nina would answer, and this, she believed in her heart, to be true.

"Well," Mama said one day, after months of consoling and coddling, "maybe you just need to practice your technique."

Nina never became angry at Mama. Nina was passive, she was quiet, but at this proclamation, she felt hot embers of fury pebble her bones.

"I'm perfect!" Nina screamed, running from the kitchen and slamming the door behind her.

Mama didn't follow her footsteps, but Nina could feel her eyes on the back of her neck. Something in her gaze was unsettling, and Nina could feel it in her blood without seeing her Mama's eyes.

/

Sixteen umpteen going on a thousand years old now, Nina was losing track of time.

The only company she ever had was brief encounters with nodding, nameless faces at the ballet studio. She was all forced smiles, and sometimes, if it was Tomas who complimented her, she would show pearly white teeth in her smile.

Mama didn't talk a lot, nowadays, other than lessons in home school. She asked about ballet practice, grilling her about Tomas, and how he acted, after each session.

Nina didn't know why Mama was so interested in any of this; she never seemed to care before.

"I have to go out," Mama said, and Nina's ears pricked up like a rabbit's.

"Why?" Nina asked; usually if Mama was going to the grocery store, she would take Nina with her.

"I—need to pick up some of your schoolbooks," she said, and Nina's restless mind wouldn't leave her alone.

"Alright," Nina said, and Mama left, kissing her on the cheek before she left. Her lips lingered on Nina's skin and Nina felt it burn like a star on her freckled flesh.

\

Mama came back in an hour or so, with a bag of books for Nina. Nina giggled like a child, clapping her hands as she saw Jane Austen on the top of the stack.

"Oooh, Harper Lee!" Nina gasped, and Mama smiled for the first time in what seemed like a century.

"I know you love To Kill A Mockingbird," Mama exclaimed. "I also bought some for myself, the bookstore was packed, I waited in line for ten minutes!"

Nina, however, didn't hear what Mama's gravelly voice said—she was too enamored with the cover of one book-

"Venus in Furs?" Nina questioned, and Mama nodded, but wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Yes. We need to expand your reading list," she explained.

"But what's it about?" Nina asked, and Mama didn't answer; instead, she grabbed all of the books and headed to her room.

/

That night, Nina heard strange noises coming through the walls.

She didn't know what—what—Mama? It was Mama's voice, and she was murmuring something...but Mama never, ever talked or snored in her sleep. Nina cracked the door open slowly, creeping down the hall to Mama's room as the walls melted behind her, into darkness.

"Mama?" Nina whispered.

There was no answer.

"Mam-" Nina started, and suddenly Mama was in the doorway, glaring down at her, her breath labored and erratic. "Are you alright?" Nina whispered timidly, and she could almost see tangible smoke furling from Mama's nose.

"Yes, I'm fine, Nina," Mama said briskly.

"I—I want to read Venus in Furs," Nina said. "I can't sleep. I heard noises—just checking on you-"

Mama's gaze softened, and Nina blushed as she realized what Mama was wearing—a black silk negligee. Nina had seen Mama naked before, in the bath, when she had walked in on her once, but the sight of her body was strange and unwelcome, still.

Mama sighed. "I suppose. But you really do need to sleep, Nina," she said, and Nina nodded.

"Just—can't," Nina mumbled. Mama strode into the room, turning on the lights, and Nina saw all of Mama's paintings on the wall, and around the mirror.

"This one's new..." Nina proclaimed, before analyzing the painting. It was a girl, with slender hips and an angelic face, staring up at Nina with Scarlet Letter lips and bare, rosy breasts. Something inside Nina sparked. "Is that-"

Mama grabbed the painting from Nina, and turned it face down on the table. "Go to bed," Mama hissed, and Nina bent her head down in submission.

"I just want the book," Nina muttered.

Mama glanced at Nina, and sighed. "I will read it to you, and you can decide for yourself if you want to continue it. I'm not sure you will like it much."

"I like anything you get me, Mama," Nina said, and she could hear Mama's breath catch in her throat.

"Go—go read your book," Mama said.

Nina blinked up at her in confusion. "I thought—you were going to read it to me? I'm getting tired."

"Alright, but in...you can sleep in here," Mama said, after a long pause.

Without hesitation, Nina climbed into Mama's bed, and as Mama laid down, she curled up next to her like a cat stretching towards the sun.

She could feel Mama trembling.

"What's wrong?" Nina mumbled sleepily. Mama said nothing, but Nina could feel her arm move, and suddenly, her fingers were running through Nina's chestnut locks.

"Nothing is wrong," Mama said quietly. But Nina could tell that something was on her mind.

Nina could feel slumber coaxing her into it's welcoming grasp, and she began to inch towards it—closer—closer—dusky hands and starry eyes made their way down her body, and she murmured to the unknown abyss in her sleepiness-

Nina bolted upright.

The motions had stopped, and Mama's hands snapped back as if they were on fire.

"Mama?"

Mama said nothing. Nina's fingers inched towards the lamp, yet she didn't have the nerve to turn on the light and stare her mother in the face.

"Sleep," came the order, after moments and eternities of heavy silence.

Nina felt wistful dreams take her away once more—she was a fay, she was a beautiful flower, swaying in the breeze—swaying to and fro with the wind, that whipped around her body, dancing along her skin like—fingers—and she was bit of seaweed, tossing up and down in the middle of the ocean as she was pulled down into the stormy maw and she was lips and tongue and mouth and no no no a seashell, waves cascading over her, under her, in her. Nina gasped and turned towards Mama, her eyes wide in the dark, and she couldn't see a blessed thing-  
And she held the ocean in her body. It wasn't welcome—she was terrified of water—but it was there, the tide ebbing closer and closer, and higher and higher, and she screamed as she drowned, begging Mama to save her, because she had never been in the sea before.

"Shhh. My sweet girl," Mama said, and kissed her on the lips. Nina's muffled pleas went unheard as she drowned in the strange feeling, the horrible wonderful sensation, and Nina pulled away. She didn't want to drown.

"Go to sleep, now," Mama said, and Nina quieted. Now she was a mere pebble, skipping along the surface of a pond, and falling into the depths, among a million other stones just. Like. Her.


End file.
